Blackwater Lights
Page 19
Ellen was frozen, straining against her ropes, her mouth open wide.
The light, now blotting out the stars above, began to descend.
Lily backed away slowly. Several of the men in robes turned and fled, a few of them covering their ears. Kevin had fallen to his knees, his face buried in the folds of his robe. The guards had simply turned and run. Those left just stared, unable to move, watching as Crawford underwent his metamorphosis.
The chain around Ray’s neck went slack.
Ray lunged. When the chain tightened around his neck, he didn’t stop, and the leash ripped from Billy’s hands. His peripheral vision turned white. He stumbled forward, aiming himself at the circle, half falling, half tripping toward the thing—the demon—that was, and might still be, Crawford.
The Crawford-thing turned. Its eyes flashed.
Ray’s head exploded in crushing pain, and he bounced backward. It had repelled him without even touching him, knocking him back with its gaze. He reeled, staggered, and fell onto his back. Overhead, the bright, blinding light was all he could see. It burned. He turned his head. The rest of them had scattered now or were crawling away up in the dirt, cowering and screaming. One of the men had pulled off his robe and lay naked, writhing and clawing at his eyes. It was pandemonium.
Lily was gone.
The light above them vanished. As if it had just switched off. It—whatever it had been—was gone. The stars were back, cold and distant as ever.
Crawford’s horrible vocalization stopped. Just cut out, as if the plug had been pulled. And he’d stopped shaking. His hood hung in front of his face.
When it fell back, Ray felt the last, stubborn dregs of his sanity evaporate. He would never be the same. The face in front of him would lurk in his nightmares, would always live in the back of his consciousness, destroying any sense that the universe was rational and benevolent and sane.
Crawford’s eyes were even larger than before, but now they were completely black. No whites, no lids—just enormous black lenses. His head had grown bulbous and drew into a point at the chin, and it moved disjointedly on his thin neck. His arms were bent in front of him, drawn back like a mantis. The fingers that stuck out the end of his robe were segmented, thin, and translucent.
He bent, his arms extended, and lifted the dagger, the bug-like fingers wrapping around the handle.
When he moved, he was unsteady—as if he was trying out his new form. He stepped awkwardly to the altar. To Ellen.
Ray struggled to get to his feet. With his arms tied behind his back, it was impossible. But he was only a couple of yards from Crawford, so he rolled onto his stomach and pushed himself forward with his feet. Squirming.
It was too late. Crawford crawled atop Ellen. His swollen head wobbled, rolling on the thin neck like a ball in a socket, moving closer to hers.
Ray shoved himself forward, feet scrabbling in the dirt.
Crawford’s mouth opened. Steaming black liquid ran out of his mouth onto Ellen’s face. She didn’t scream. Didn’t react at all.
Closer. Just a little bit closer.
Crawford’s head pivoted sharply. The black eyes locked onto Ray’s and spoke to him, wordlessly.
Puny, insignificant nazzq’ua, you will not interrupt my feeding.
Ray’s muscles locked. He couldn’t move at all. Couldn’t even breathe.
I will taste your fluids next.
Its head snapped back around, and the thing pulled itself up. Raised the blade above Ellen’s chest. Its arms fell from the sleeves. They were spindly and knobbed at the joints. It wasn’t human at all anymore.
The sound from the demon’s mouth, as the blade reached its apogee, ripped the night. It was a cry of hunger, of lust, of victory and anticipation. The sound of something that had been waiting a long time.
Something clicked.
The monster’s head snapped around. A hiss emanated through its clattering mouth appendages.
A gunshot. Ray blinked instinctively. The sound echoed through the hills.
The demon screeched and jerked backward, away from Ellen, dropping the dagger. The gunshot had blown a chunk from the side of its face, and its head jerked wildly, its mantis arms scrabbling at the shredded hole.
Kevin lowered the gun and looked at Ray, his eyes wet with tears. Eyes telling enough of his pain and sorrow that words weren’t needed.
Ray’s body unlocked, and air rushed into his lungs. The thing’s attention was on Kevin now, and he could breathe. And move.
Kevin aimed the gun again.
Ray’s raw voice worked again, but it came out as a whisper. “Kill it, Kevin. Kill it!”
Kevin shot again, but the thing was too quick. The bullet went wide. The demon drew back into a crouch and leapt with blinding speed. Kevin fell beneath it and the gun flew out of his hands into the darkness. His scream became a bubbling gasp as the thing’s mouth sank into his neck. The spindly arms grasped his head, and Ray winced as Kevin’s neck snapped like a dry branch.
More gunfire in the distance. Pop-pop-pop. Time to move. He squirmed to the altar, pushing with his feet through blood-soaked soil. He rolled on his back and wrapped his hand around the dagger. It was still sticky with Micah’s blood. He rolled back over and pushed himself up to his knees.
The monster was still crouched atop Kevin, its head poking and twitching as it burrowed into his flesh. More bone cracked, then an obscene sound like a dentist’s suction.
He wedged the dagger’s handle between his boots, behind his back, blade extending upward. After a few shallow nicks in his wrists, he managed to press the ropes against the blade. Sawed the cord against the sharp edge. When the bonds fell free, his hands flared with pain as the circulation returned. With the dagger in his free hands, he cut the ropes around his midsection.
Free. Now there was only one thing left to do. The demon’s head pulled back from Kevin, its mouth parts clutching a hunk of something grayish pink. Kevin’s brain. Ray’s gorge rose in his throat.
The dagger felt heavy in his hands. He moved slowly. He’d need to take it by surprise, while it was still occupied with feeding and before it could freeze him with its gaze again. Because if he didn’t stop it, he would be its next meal. Then Ellen.
From atop the rock altar, Ellen moaned.
The demon froze. A clicking sound came from its mouth.
Ray drew back the dagger and jumped.
For an unbearable instant, while he was in the air, it was as if he were looking at a tableau or a photograph. The thing’s head had twisted around completely. Its oily black eyes blasted him with hate, its mouth a mess of shiny, sharp mandibles and gore, a chunk of its head torn away by Kevin’s bullet, exposing what looked like black bone threaded with white sinew. The hate in the coal-black eyes froze him, almost as if it were freezing time itself.
You die now, nazzq’ua, die so I may live.
Red light exploded in his head, blinding him. He fell into it, bringing the dagger forward, straining with all of his strength to slam it, to drive it forward to where he thought its head would be and push it, deep, deep—
Something cracked as the blade broke through a layer of shell.
Ray couldn’t tell where his screaming ended and the thing’s began. Its arms, spindly but strong as steel cables, clutched him tightly and crushed the air from his lungs. It was jerking and twisting beneath him, and if it rolled on top of him that would be the end. He held tightly to the dagger with both hands, pushing it deeper. The thing’s high-pitched shrieking felt like sharp sticks being driven into his eardrums.
Something popped beneath the blade, and his hands grew wet and began to burn.
Don’t let go. Push it deeper.
He felt a rib crack. His lungs spasmed, seeking air, but the bony arms squeezed him tighter. He could see a little bit now, through his uninjured eye. The dagger was embedded directly between its eyes, the blade a little more than halfway buried. Its mouth was clattering, the sharp points jabbing at his wrists.
The blade sank further, and then something gave and it slid all the way to the hilt.
The creature pulled away from him, and the dagger slipped from his hands. He coughed and his lungs sucked hard. Despite the pain, he gasped and wheezed and inhaled again. Wiped his burning eyes, blinking his good eye so he could see again.
The demon was twitching and flailing wildly in the dirt, its arms pulling at the dagger. Bright green fluid leaked from the wound. It couldn’t get the blade out, and the way its hand appendages pulled at the handle reminded him of the way a fly worked its forelegs together as it prepared to eat.
And then it started to change again, blurring through a kaleidoscope of forms inside the robe, insectoid, snakelike, rubbery, bloated, hairy, glistening, flashing through the bodies of things alien and repulsive, writhing and twisting, all the while rending the night with its cries.
And then it stopped.
Crawford lay on his back, the dagger sticking out of his forehead.
Ray got to his knees, crying out from the pain of the snapped rib. He looked to Ellen, then to Crawford. He stood, his teeth clenched, and walked to Crawford.
The fucker was looking up at him. Opening his mouth as if to say something. Moving his lips.
Ray drove his foot down on the dagger. And again. Until it pushed through the back of his skull and impaled him in the dirt.
“Goodbye, Crawford,” he said.
More gunshots in the distance.
He ran to the altar. Every breath felt like a kick in the chest. “Ellen, it’s me. It’s going to be all right.”
No response.
He was going to need the dagger to cut her free. Shit. He returned to Crawford’s corpse, held his foot on his neck, and bent over, grimacing from the pain. He grabbed the dagger with both hands. It took two tries before it pulled free.
He cut Ellen loose, then tossed the dagger into the fire. He held her, wiping the sticky black mess from her face. Tears ran from beneath her blindfold. Her arms tightened around him—out of instinct or recognition, it didn’t matter. He’d thought he’d never feel her again.
“I won’t leave you,” he whispered, and knew it was true.
“William,” she said, barely a whisper.
More gunfire. Much closer.
He had to get them out of here. Crawford might be dead, but Lily wasn’t. And those who were left might be coming back to take care of business. He walked around the edge of the firelight, looking for the gun. It was lying next to a crumpled robe. He picked it up. It was still warm.
He put the robe on and pulled the hood over his head. He was one of them now.
He hoisted Ellen onto his back and groaned. The broken rib could puncture his lung if he wasn’t careful. Good thing she was small and not too heavy. He’d wait until they were far away from the carnage to take off her blindfold. She didn’t need to see this.
With Ellen over his shoulders he headed through the woods, along the trail to the house.
Chapter Twenty-six
The going was slow and pained. The ordeals of the past days had nearly broken his body, and Ellen was dead weight on his back. His swollen-shut eye kept him stumbling in the darkness. He had no idea if William was even at the house, but he didn’t have any choice. If he didn’t find William, or at least try, Ellen would never forgive him. And he’d never forgive himself.
He stumbled and caught himself on a tree. Leaned against it for a moment. Wished he had something to drink. Wished he could just stop and lie down for a few minutes.
No. There would be time for rest later. If Lily found Crawford and saw the gaping hole in his head, she’d stop everything to hunt him down.
When he saw the lights from Crawford’s house in the distance through the trees, he paused. Someone was running toward him. One of the robed men, his hood off, his eyes wide and crazed.
Ray held out the gun. “Stop, motherfucker,” he said.
The man kept running.
“I said stop.” Ray let Ellen slide off his back without losing his aim. She lay silent.
“I saw it!” the man screamed. “I saw it, I swear, I saw it, I saw them, it got inside my head and I can’t stop seeing it.” He was a few yards away and not slowing.
Ray’s hand shook. His finger tensed on the trigger. But if he shot him, everyone within a mile would hear it.
“Eyes, thousands of eyes, and flies, flies, flies—”
Ray swung the pistol. The sound of cracking bone as it hit the man’s face made him wince. The man staggered, his jaw broken, loosened from his face. Ray swung again and this time caught him on the side of his head. The man stared into Ray’s eyes and a smile spread across the unbroken side of his jaw. Then his legs collapsed and he fell onto his back.
Ellen whispered something he couldn’t understand, then her mouth went slack.
Ray hoisted her across his shoulders and started moving again.
He watched the back door of Crawford’s house from the tree line. A solitary cop guarded the door. He paced, muttering under his breath and smoking a short, fat cigar.
There was no way he could carry Ellen into the house. He laid her gently in a cluster of brush. She was soaked and sticky with Sara’s blood, and she’d freeze to death if he didn’t hurry. He kissed her cheek. “Stay here. Be quiet. I’ll be back. I’m going to find William. And then we’re all getting away from here.”
She didn’t respond. He was glad, because it felt like a lie coming from his lips.
He pulled the cowl over his face and walked to the cop guarding the door.
“What happened out there?” the cop asked. “Shit’s gone crazy. Where’s Crawford?”
Ray shook his head. “I don’t know. I’m looking for him.”
The cop nodded. “If you see him, tell him I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here.”
Ray entered the back door. It took all of his courage to enter the house again. He wanted to smash the leering statue of Pan at the foot of the staircase to pieces. Set fire to the place. How satisfying it would be to watch it all burn down.
William could be anywhere. But he was probably in one of the cells in the basement. He’d seen shadows of others, locked away.
He made his way through the gallery to the basement stairs.
The guy in the acid-washed jeans and jacket and white sneakers sat in a metal folding chair outside the row of cells, a shotgun in his lap.
Ray walked to him slowly.
He stood. Greasy-haired and skinny. “Who are you?”
“Shut the fuck up,” Ray said.
White Sneakers held his arms at his side. His right hand tightened on the shotgun.
“Sorry.”
“Where’s the kid? The one with the glasses?”
White Sneakers pointed. “In there.”
“Keys?” Ray held out his hand.
White Sneakers reached into his pocket. “Wait. Who are you?” He bent lower, to better see Ray’s face. “Hey …”
Ray’s fist smashed his jaw. White Sneakers went down. The shotgun clattered on the floor but didn’t discharge. Ray jumped on him. White Sneakers’s eyes blinked and then hardened. He started squirming.
“This is for Sara, you piece of shit,” Ray said, driving his fist into White Sneakers’s face. And again. Blood gushed from the broken nose. He could have killed him—his anger and raw energy caught him off guard. But he stopped his punches when he saw the bloodied face go rubbery and the eyes blank and empty.
He dug through the pants pocket and found a key ring. He couldn’t waste any time. He put the pistol on safety, stuck it in the deep pocket of the robe, and picked up the shotgun.
He knew it was William right away when he peered in the tiny window. The boy lay curled against the wall, seemingly asleep. When Ray finally found the right key and turned the lock,
William jumped to his feet and ran to the back of the room.
“It’s me,” Ray whispered.
“Stay away from me.”
Ray pulled off the hood.
William froze. Then he ran and wrapped his arms around Ray, squeezing tightly. “Where’s my mom?”
“She’s okay. But we have to hurry.”
William held on to the folds of the robe. Ray closed the door behind them. White Sneakers was still unconscious, his head surrounded by a puddle of blood.
“What about the other people?” William asked.
“No time,” Ray whispered.
The boy stared up at him.
“Are there kids?” Ray asked.
William shook his head. “I don’t think so.”
“Okay. I’ll open the rest of the doors. But they’re on their own.” He took out the key ring. The same key opened the other five doors. He unlocked them all quietly. “They’ll have a chance now. Let’s go get your mother. Follow me—up the stairs. Hang on to the back of my robe.”
When they walked past White Sneakers, William kicked him.
Ray stopped near the top of the steps. He held his finger to his lips, then motioned for William to stay put.
William nodded.
Ray carefully peeked around the corner.
The cop stood inside, in front of the door. Agitated.
Ray peered around the corner, hoping the shadows were enough to conceal him, and aimed the shotgun. Shifted his face so he could see through his good eye, aiming the best he could. The shot went wide, blowing a chunk out of the wall. The cop dropped to the floor.
Shit. Ray stared at the gun in his hands. What now? Did he have to reload? Was it one of those pump-action guns he’d seen in the movies? He pulled back on the fore end of the gun and a shell rattled on the steps and clinked down the stairs. Good. Maybe another had loaded.
Ray turned. William was hunkered down three steps below him. “Go!” he hissed.
William shook his head. Then his eyes looked past Ray and widened.
Ray twisted back around. The cop had his handgun drawn and was pointing it directly at his face.
Ray squeezed the trigger.
The recoil knocked him backward, and at first he wasn’t sure if he had been shot. He fell on William and they both tumbled. When they stopped, tangled in each other’s limbs, something rolled after them. Ray pulled William’s face into his chest. The cop slid past them, his arms flopping as he somersaulted to the floor below. A pool of blood spread immediately around him.